When Day is Done
by Profligates
Summary: Vulpes Inculta and the Courier are sent on a high stakes mission to infiltrate the Strip. Vulpes must not only unravel the Omerta's plans, but also keep his eye on the all too suspicious Courier, and test her loyalty to the Legion.


Vulpes Inculta knelt on the hot sand before his lord as he awaited the details of his new assignment. He remembered how as a young boy, kneeling for long periods of time would make his muscles ache, but now it was a position his body had grown accustomed to. Behind him there was a rustle of drapery and the sound of soft footsteps as someone entered the tent. Vulpes turned, and immediately his blood boiled. The Courier.

She walked towards them exuding an air of confidence. He could not understand how she held the Legion in such a trance. They were all enamored with her, some even believed her to be some sort of war queen sent to them by Mars. He too had once seen such promise in her, back when he spared her in Nipton. She was dedicated and hard working, but now he saw all the small slips in her behavior.

"Ah, Courier! You're just in time!" Caesar clapped his hands as their new arrival.

No, he couldn't possibly mean for them to work together, could he? Vulpes panicked for a moment. He wanted desperately to speak up, to say that this was a terrible idea, but he knew better than to question his lord's decisions. And for all he knew, perhaps this was simply a test of his dedication.

"You summoned me, my lord?" the Courier asked. He stared at her coldly as she knelt down beside him, their eyes catching for a brief moment. She gave him a small smirk before turning her attention to their lord.

"My informants on the Strip tell me that the Omertas have been acting strange recently— stranger than usual. It's a good possibility that they're going after control of the strip, and that could ruin our connections with the White Gloves," he began. He paused, raising a hand to his temple. Signs of another oncoming migraine.

Vulpes looked up in concern at his lord, but nodded. It would not surprise him if the Omertas were to make an attempt to gain control of the Strip. They were vicious and greedy, like a pack of starved wolves.

Caesar kept kneading his forehead, but continued, "The White Gloves are holding a party tomorrow night, I suspect that the Omertas might strike then. I need you two to get into that party and figure out what the fuck is going on. You two are the best frumentarii I have, I imagine you can get the job done."

Vulpes had to stop his jaw from dropping at that comment. Was the Courier really a frumentarii now? Why hadn't he even been notified? He had worked years to get to the position he was in now, and suddenly this woman who stumbled in from the wastes was being regarded on the same level as him.

"I understand, my lord," he pressed a balled fist to his chest before rising and exiting the tent. The Courier did the same and followed him out.

They walked in silence for a few moments before the Courier spoke.

"I worry for our lord," she said, "his headaches are becoming more frequent."

"Hm." Vulpes gave her a small glare, he didn't believe a single word that fell from her degenerate lips. Was she planning something? It was always a possibility that she was on the side of the Omertas, or possibly even the NCR. A profligate whore like her should have no qualms with being a double agent.

He made a stop at his tent to gather supplies and change. It wouldn't do them any good if he walked around the Strip in his Legion armor. The Courier stood at the mouth of his tent as he undressed, leaning casually against a support pole. She intently scanned him up and down with her eyes, as if searching for any weak points.

"You don't trust me, do you?" the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. One of the many stories of her origin around the camp said that she was once a fierce member of the Jackals, a cannibalistic group of raiders known for the ritual of sharpening their teeth into sharp points. Vulpes was not one to believe any of the tall tales the other legionaries spread, but he also took notice that she never showed her teeth when she smiled.

"I think that was established when you waltzed in here with Driver Nephi's golf club, shortly after an unknown assailant assisted the NCR in wiping out the Fiend leaders."

That was around the time he had begun to become suspicious of her loyalties. She would disappear from camp for weeks at a time, and around the same time many reports from all over the Mojave would pour in. A drug runner for the Khans, a strange new bodyguard for the Van Graffs, the disappearance of an old woman and a sniper from Novac. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that it was all her.

"There are hundreds of golf clubs out there in the Mojave. It could have been any one of them." Her eyes followed the movement of his arms as he pulled on a shirt. "Are you sure you're not jealous of me, _Vulpes Inculta_?"

He ground his teeth together at her words. She knew just what to say to get him worked up. "I have no reason to be jealous of you, Courier."

"Oh, but who was it that retrieved the platinum chip from Benny? Destroyed the robots in the bunker? Eradicated the Brotherhood of Steel? Defended Nelson? Single-handedly killed every soldier in Camp Forlorn Hope?" she paused, playing with the Mark of Caesar hanging around her neck, the one he had given her months ago. "You know, people say we're quite similar."

Vulpes stopped in the middle of buckling his pants, and worked hard to keep his composure. "There is _nothing_ similar about us," he hissed. The Courier was nothing but chaos locked in a gilded cage, ready to break free at any moment. He, on the other hand, was the image of absolute control. "When did Caesar even make you a frumentarius?"

"Just this morning, actually." She raked her fingers through the dark tendrils of her hair, shifting them out of her face. "He must have been quite pleased with my recon work, taking out the NCR monorail."

Vulpes finished donning the rest of his mercenary gear, now easily passable as just another wastelander.

The Courier took a step towards him, her eyes narrowed and her grin as big as ever. "That's a good look for you. I like it," she began to raise a hand toward his face, and he quickly snatched her by the wrist, squeezed tightly until she winced.

"We should get moving, I want to make it to Freeside by evening. We'll make plans for tomorrow from there," he released her arm and left the tent.

The long walk to Freeside was surprisingly uneventful. The only trouble they came across was a lone deathclaw— old, blind, and wandering aimlessly. He was hardly any trouble at all. The Mojave seemed eerily silent, as if building up for something disastrous. The Courier insisted on keeping the radio on as they traveled. It irritated him at first but soon Vulpes was able to ignore the droning of the profligate news caster, and the annoyingly upbeat songs from long before the great war.

Together they walked through the garbage-strewn streets of the filthy town, carefully stepping around broken glass and passed out drunks. This place disgusted him. It was the absolute epitome of the failures of a degenerate civilization. When it came time for lord Caesar to claim New Vegas as his own he would gladly offer to raze Freeside to the ground himself.

"This way," he lead her around the corner and towards the irregular blinking of a decrepit neon sign.

The Courier scoffed and raised an arched brow, "The Atomic Wrangler? Can't say I'd ever imagine you in this place,"

"It's the safest place we currently have, here no one will care enough to bother us. That's something that we can't guarantee on the Strip."

"In that case, why don't you let me handle this?" The Courier pushed past the door and slipped into the booze-scented darkness within.

Vulpes watched as she approached the woman behind the counter, quickly making friendly conversation with her. So she was familiar with the degenerates of the area, it seemed. He watched as she jabbed a thumb in his direction, and no doubt some sort of lewd comment was exchanged as the two women snickered. Soon, the Courier dropped a handful of caps onto the counter in exchange for a key and sauntered back up to him with a rather accomplished look on her face.

"What exactly was the point of that?" he asked as she lead them upstairs.

"Got us the room furthest from the rest. And," she gave him a wink, "I made sure that there will be zero interruptions tonight,"

Now he understood what they had been snickering about. He watched the Courier unlock the door to their room and silently stepped in after her, closing the door firmly behind him. He double-checked to make sure it was locked before dropping his gear onto the threadbare couch.


End file.
